]]>https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2014/01/16/who/feed/0isidoragermainAn empty glass, an empty mindhttps://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2014/01/03/an-empty-glass-an-empty-mind/
https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2014/01/03/an-empty-glass-an-empty-mind/#respondFri, 03 Jan 2014 19:58:10 +0000http://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/?p=581I am just an old man with no kids, well unless you count my bottles of liquor as my children. I have a disease, my liver and life is a disease. I allow the alcohol to poison every aspect of my body, letting it seep into every pore and crevice of my body in hopes of wasting away on this goddamn stool. I have lost count how many times my night has ended with me sitting on this stool drinking. I have often thought that when I die my funeral will be held here at this very bar, I have lived out my life here so why not have it end here. I will probably drink myself to my death on this stool anyways.

I have alluded to becoming a patron saint of the drunks, but I haven’t gone to church in years. My faith has gone along with my self realization of happiness. Pitilessness has filled me and I cannot control my hands as they shove down more and more alcohol down my throat. In the attempts to find happiness I have found illness and addiction.

The bar closes at midnight and it is a quarter to midnight, I can probably squeeze in one more drink. But only if the bartender has forgotten how many drinks I have had. Well I have forgotten how many drinks I’ve had. But that’s okay because I still have a couple bottles at home, it has become a habit to come here. I walk the same road to the bar, the same walk way to my apartment and I come home to everything in the dumps. When I was young everyone said to me “you’ll always be changing, you’ll never stop changing.” But they were wrong, once I hit 65 everything stayed the same. I lived a life of schedule, and everything became a step. Going around and around and around in circles dragging on.

“Eddie I have to close the bar down,” Frank the bartender said.

I looked up at him and nodded “I knnow.” I slid off the stool, the floor was lopsided and I stumbled to steady myself. I took slow steps attempting to stay up. At least I could walk.

I staggered home walking down the empty streets. There was an old story that ghosts would come out at night to spread terror to the people out wondering the roads late at night. But I have yet to see the ghost, except for in my mind. My mind reeks of emptiness and the past continues to haunt me, my dead youth is the ghosts in the walls of my cranium. I passed a group of young women in short dresses, they were all huddled together and laughing, I made eye contact and quickly walked away. Only the lovers and the lonely walk the night at this time, destined to find silence and solitude in their future. The lovers never last, and the lonely only get lonelier. The street lights were dull which wasn’t helping my inability to find the ground. Everything was swaying and I felt myself fall, but I was unable to put my hands up to stop myself from hitting the ground face first. The gravel pushing against the side of my cheek and palms of my hands. I didn’t have the energy in me to push myself off the cement and onto my feet, but I didn’t want to wake up somewhere else other than my bedroom floor. I felt the cool wind against my back and as I began to fade I heard footsteps.

Black and a dull pain that was rising slowly to more than a dull pain. An escape soon turns to the reality of laying somewhere unfamiliar.

There was a steady beep and a click of heels slowly fading away. I opened my eyes to see fluorescent lights and white washed walls. The hospital. I could tell by the pattern of the ceiling. The dots were so unregular and very annoying to look at, but there was a least 200 black dots in every tile. It is not a personal achievement of mine, it is one of the many flaws. I sat up, the lights and windows blurred together and it hurt. I leaned on the the stiff pillow and looked around, everything was the same. The walls turned into glass and the glass made it feel like a zoo with the blinds pulled shut. My heart beat was the undertone of the room, steady and calm. My arms were hooked up to tubes, I was tangled up in my health. My clothes were folded up neatly on the chair next to me, calling at me to put them on and go home.

It almost makes me laugh at how sad everything and usual is. I could probably be a character in one of Charles Bukowski’s poems, an old drunk man falls down once again and ends up in the hospital. I wonder how make times Charles Bukowski went to the hospital, because I’m sure he ended up in the hospital multiple times. I’ve often thought Bukowski and I have much in common, but he has become famous for his failures. I have just lived, and that is my punishment. Living.

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https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2014/01/03/an-empty-glass-an-empty-mind/feed/0isidoragermainThe clock strikes midnight and the only thing in the house is the thornless rose and me.https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/the-clock-strikes-midnight-and-the-only-thing-in-the-house-is-the-thornless-rose-and-me/
https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/the-clock-strikes-midnight-and-the-only-thing-in-the-house-is-the-thornless-rose-and-me/#respondFri, 06 Dec 2013 00:38:11 +0000http://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/?p=576Flower girl,you are my calypsohead deep in the wisdomof nothingsend me reeling out toseethe raw nature of athornless rose

clip all the stormsand place them on the kitchen tablearrange them in a bouquetcovered in green tissue paperI’ll wait for the stormsto mature and wiltbut I keep gazing at thefoot trodden doorstepwaiting for my calypso.

the fleeting hope of being safewrapped around in your rootsbut it’s getting harder to breath each daybut dear mulberry treeI shall not survive you

]]>https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/11/04/black-mulberry-tree/feed/0isidoragermainThe RioT GrrrL Manifestohttps://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/31/the-riot-grrrl-manifesto/
https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/31/the-riot-grrrl-manifesto/#respondThu, 31 Oct 2013 04:46:35 +0000http://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/31/the-riot-grrrl-manifesto/When She Speaks I Hear the Revolution: I foresee many blogs coming about riot grrrl sort of topics, so I figured for those of you who aren’t as familiar with the 90s movement, I’d give you a quick brush up on the manifesto of the riot grrrl. The essence of why riot…]]>

I foresee many blogs coming about riot grrrl sort of topics, so I figured for those of you who aren’t as familiar with the 90s movement, I’d give you a quick brush up on the manifesto of the riot grrrl. The essence of why riot grrrl was what it was, and why it was important, and what they hoped to achieve. And in many ways, DID. Certainly not to a 100% accomplishment, but change is slow. It doesn’t come overnight. And from what Kathleen Hanna said in the recent GRITtv interview, we have come a long way. Back when riot grrrl started, girls at punk shows were nearly unheard of. Those brave grrrl punks who tried to brave a show didn’t have an easy time of it. These days, punk is a lot more diverse and isn’t quite the guy-fest that it used to be.

When the trend of collar necklaces came out, I was completely crazy about it! I don’t know how it happened, but I didn’t manage to make one for myself – up until now. This one has the delicacy of a collar, but also the edge of the thick chain, black beads and skull. Want to know how to make your own? It’s actually really simple.

What you need:

12 beads

12 eye pins

5 jump rings

chain

central piece (skull or another charm)

clasp

Divide your beads into two groups (6 and 6) and pass an eye pin through each one. Link the first group of six beads together, and then do the same for the second group.

Above, you have a sketch of how the necklace is supposed to be put together. Measure equal pieces of chain to the left and right, place the central piece in the middle…

]]>https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/28/diy-skull-collar-necklace/feed/0isidoragermainThey don’t get the jokehttps://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/28/542/
https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/28/542/#respondMon, 28 Oct 2013 05:52:36 +0000http://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/?p=542“You’re a feminist??”they whisper
as if I have disease
or someone might here them.

Feminist:
treat the person with caution
they get appalled by rape and sexist
jokes

they don’t seem to find humor in
gender oppression and
sexual abuse
that’s so weird

One day someone will sing a lullaby
when counting sheep does not help
if lullabies don’t help you sleep
a cup of warm milk will be by your bedside

They’ll take pictures of the smiles
that form on your beautiful face
placing them safely in a book
bound in plastic, to last over the years

They’ll mend every broken heart and stubbed toe
placing a band-aid on whatever is hurt

2.

One day koúkla mou
You’ll exist

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https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/24/koukla-mou/feed/0isidoragermainPocketing Memories With Pieces of Linthttps://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/08/pocketing-memories-with-pieces-of-lint/
https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/08/pocketing-memories-with-pieces-of-lint/#respondTue, 08 Oct 2013 02:18:26 +0000http://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/?p=479An implicative memory hangs limply on a coat hanger
Wrap it around my shoulders and move on
I forget it’s there until I remember
When no other words are processing,
I remember.

Compose myself with sips of water
and splashes of reality
Then go back to the class and settle down

Lint balls collect and I pick them off
Feeling guilty for losing the little bits left of you
I pocket them,
and they begin to collect
like the congealing memories

I feel guilty about you becoming a memory
You should be more than pieces of lint
collecting in my pocket

I wrap myself up in the smells of every memory
that I will not let fade away

and all I have is the vague smell of home and
lint balls that remind me of you

]]>https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/08/pocketing-memories-with-pieces-of-lint/feed/0isidoragermainAftertaste of Shame: When Will They Stop the Blame?https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/04/aftertaste-of-shame-when-will-they-stop-the-blame/
https://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/2013/10/04/aftertaste-of-shame-when-will-they-stop-the-blame/#respondFri, 04 Oct 2013 02:39:52 +0000http://highlyfunctioninghermit.wordpress.com/?p=476A rush comes with anger
With the aftertaste of shame.
I didn’t think this would ever happen to me
And I am not to blame

With the aftertaste of shame
I cover my body, to feel safe
And I am not to blame
Empty streets and long walks home

I cover my body to feel safe
When will they realize I was sober
Empty streets and long walks home
We must remember, we will always remember

When will they realize I was sober
They say I am at fault, but how?
We must remember, we will always remember
We need to take action now.

They say I am at fault, but how?
This shouldn’t happen to anyone
We need to take action now
A rush comes with anger